


Nothing

by asocialconstruct



Series: Basic [2]
Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Blood, Dysfunctional Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Request Meme, Unrequited Love, vulnerable!Cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asocialconstruct/pseuds/asocialconstruct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cain and Deimos meet in basic, before they got their tasknames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully the name changes aren't too confusing: Nine = Cain; Thirty = Deimos; One, Two and Six = Jerks. Deimos POV. This runs concurrent with [chapter seven](http://archiveofourown.org/works/518195/chapters/946005) of [Before](http://archiveofourown.org/works/518195/chapters/915265).

Nine wasn’t very good at this game, Thirty thought. Nine wanted things too badly to last long in basic; wanted to move up to Six, the highest they could go without a commission, wanted to prove himself even after their lieutenant One stepped in to slap him back in place. 

Thirty liked where he was; high enough to not be cut at the end of basic, low enough to not be noticed. He’d figured those rules out early, just like at home in the colonies, lay low and don’t stand out. Don’t be first, don’t be last, and never volunteer. Nine hadn’t learned that yet, pissing off their sergeant Two on the first day and having to fight his way all the way up from Fifty when they were stripped of their names and given their numbers. Thirty had started in the middle and stayed there, letting Nine move up past him and take out others on his way. 

If all Nine had wanted was to get out of the colonies, he was doing it the wrong way, setting himself up to be sent back either as a washout or in a coffin. 

Thirty ignored him mostly, except to stay out of his way. Nine was bad news; he had no friends, Thirty didn’t want any, and Nine would take down anyone near him when he finally washed out.

Thirty was surprised, then, when he found out that Nine bent over for the lieutenant, the thought of someone so abrasive on his knees willingly—or better, unwillingly—strangely appealing. No one else seemed to know about it, though, so Thirty kept it to himself in case it was useful later. 

They all fucked each other, of course. It was all part of the game and the point was to learn how to not get fucked. But the officers usually stayed out of it. Thirty started following Nine then, fascinated despite himself with finding out if Nine thought he was going to move up the rankings that way, or if he wanted it, or if One had threatened to bust him back down to Fifty. 

Thirty saw, then, when Six and Two pushed Nine into the empty showers one night, and heard what happened, the smirks Six and Two gave each other as they left saying exactly what they'd done to Nine. Thirty gave Nine time to pull himself back together before going in.

Nine was dressed by the time Thirty found him, sitting on one of the benches furthest from the entrance, his shoulders hunched. Thirty came up behind him silently, bringing out a knife and holding it out handle first. Nine startled away as it came in the edge of his vision, grabbing it away as he stood, throwing himself at Thirty.

“Who the fuck are you?” Nine demanded, pushing Thirty against the wall with a hand across his throat. He smelled interesting, like home and blood and too much sex, dangerous and familiar at the same time. He still had blood on his face from a bloody nose Six or Two had given him.

Thirty put his hands up, placating, a little disappointed but not offended that Nine didn’t recognize him. “Thirty,” he whispered. “Misha,” he added, hopeful. They weren’t supposed to share their real names, but Thirty was in too deep now, and it might be useful in pulling something else from Nine. 

“The fuck is wrong with your voice?” Nine asked, but Thirty just shrugged, not interested in giving that much yet. “What did you see?” Nine demanded, his fingers tightening on Thirty’s throat.

Thirty shrugged again. “Nothing,” he whispered. 

Nine backed off, eyeing him suspiciously but hefting the knife, holding it like he’d never used one before. “You’re quiet as a fucking mouse,” he said, smirking finally. “You’re the one who cut all those fuckers up, aren’t you?” Thirty nodded, pleased to be recognized. “C’mon,” Nine said, jerking his head at the door. “Got a bottle of vodka in my footlocker if you show me how to use this.”

Thirty followed. He couldn’t not follow, wondering what else Nine wanted.

He let Nine fuck him after that, no reason to worry about it since they were so far apart in the rankings, and Thirty reluctantly found himself pulled closer when Nine helped beat back Forty-five when he tried to climb up the rankings. Nine had no subtlety with a knife, no finesse, but he was fast and a quick learner. No subtlety in bed, either, but Thirty taught him a couple things there too, after Nine got over trying to prove that he could fuck just as hard as he got fucked.

And Nine didn’t have any problems after he killed Six. Thirty had never actually killed anyone before, too dangerous in the colonies, judges too fast to hand out death penalties and life sentences to colonial trash, but the consequences were different here. Nine didn’t even blink as Six died, bleeding out slowly as they both watched, Thirty’s stomach knotting over itself at the smell of too much blood. Nine was a dangerous friend, but even more dangerous an enemy. Not much choice in it.

So Thirty stuck close to Nine—Six now—and got out of basic as Seven, one step behind him the rest of the way.


End file.
